


The Definition of Sex

by LadyDrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Coming In Pants, Dom/sub Undertones, Finger Sucking, Getting Together, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, POV Derek Hale, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:04:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9096463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: Stiles is obviously a little unclear on the definition of sex. Derek is gonna fix that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was [originally posted on Tumblr](http://ladydrace.tumblr.com/post/145395451431/sterek-finger-sucking-thats-my-prompt-if-you) for the anon prompt: Sterek + _finger sucking_.
> 
> Dedicated to [Emma](http://pale-silver-comb.tumblr.com/), [Rita](http://crossroadswrite.tumblr.com/) and [Jamie](http://queerlytired.tumblr.com/), and I hope they've learned their lesson.
> 
> Unbetaed. 

”… and personally I think he was full of shit,” Stiles rambles, hands moving rapidly. ”Because, come on, I mean, we were all drunk, but I think I would have noticed if people started getting naked.”

 

Derek hasn’t really been listening too intently to Stiles’ long-winded sharing of his drunken college party experiences, but he’s been nodding along up until now. One thing, though… ”You’re saying because no one took their clothes off they couldn’t have been having sex?”

 

”Well, yeah. I mean, sure, I guess there could be some covert disrobing, but the room was full off people, someone would have noticed.”

 

”That’s not what I meant. Are you honestly telling me that you think you have to be naked to have sex?”

 

Stiles narrows his eyes at him like it’s a trick question. ”… yeeeah? You gotta at least have the equipment exposed for the main event, man.”

 

Derek had honestly thought Stiles had a broader view of sex, but, then again, he sometimes forgets just how young Stiles really is. Not a teenager anymore, sure, but considering most of his teen years had been spent dealing with one supernatural disaster after another, there couldn’t have been that much time left over to have certain intimate realizations. ”Trust me, Stiles, there is a lot more to sex than just pegs going in holes.”

 

”Duh, I know what foreplay is, dude. But you gotta… do the do, you know? Or it’s just not sex. Heavy petting, maybe. But sex? Nuh uh. That’s bullshit.”

 

Had it been anyone else, Derek would probably just have huffed at them and left them to figure it out for themselves unless they asked. But something about Stiles always makes him want to prove a point. Preferably in the most demonstrative and physical ways, and while he’s not always proud of his choices in that regard, he’s long since accepted that with Stiles he just can’t fucking help himself. ”Give me your hand,” he says, turning to face Stiles on the couch.

 

Stiles stares at Derek’s hand like it’s gonna bite him. A not entirely unreasonable fear, considering. ”Why?”

 

”Just do it,” Derek says impatiently, and Stiles eventually huffs and slaps his palm on top of Derek’s.

 

”Happy?”

 

”Not yet. Close your eyes.”

 

”I swear to god,” Stiles hisses with narrowed eyes, ”if this is some kind of prank, I will give you a mountain ash enema, don’t think I won’t.”

 

”Stiles. Trust me?”

 

At one time that would have been too much to ask. But they’ve come so far since then, and Stiles only glares for another moment before letting his eyes fall closed. Not without a groan of protest, but that’s good enough for Derek.

 

He turns Stiles’ hand over, palm up, and starts drawing gentle patterns on the skin with his fingertips.

 

”If I fall asleep, I’m blaming you.”

 

”You won’t. Now shut up.”

 

Stiles mutters something about pushy werewolves, but finally does settle down quietly. Derek takes his time, tracing every small line and crinkle of the skin, down to brush the tender skin and blue veins of his wrist before turning back. He works around each finger, circling the knuckles, in between, root to tip, and Stiles’ fingers twitch.

 

”Derek?” he says, a small frown between his brows, but Derek shushes him. If he has to explain what he’s doing he might have to think about it, and he doesn’t want to.

 

”Just feel.”

 

He keeps the touches light, almost not-there light, but Stiles definitely feels it, his skin pimpling with goosebumps up both arms. Once he’s sure he’s covered every tiny inch, Derek turns Stiles’ hand over, and starts again on the back of it. Tiny slow lines of touch, wrist to fingertip, circles, swirls, figure-eights and the lightest of tapping. He can hear Stiles’ heart pick up, smell him sweating, a combination of pleasure and uncertainty kicking his body into awareness, but that’s fine. It’s as it should be.

 

Derek leans close and breathes hotly across Stiles’ hand, back first, then palm, smiling when it makes his mouth fall open. It moves vaguely, like Stiles wants to protest or at least offer some kind of commentary, but nothing comes out, and Derek rewards him by following up with a quick, cool breath. Stiles gives a full-body shudder, and his eyelids flutter. But he keeps them closed like he was told to, and Derek honestly didn’t expect him to behave so well, but he’s not about to let it go unnoticed. So he bends closer and presses a tiny kiss to the nearest fingertip. Stiles shudders again, and Derek moves on to the next one. And the next one. Small, gentle presses of lips against sensitive skin. And he knows it’s sensitive. He’s seen the kind of delicate tasks they can do, knows that Stiles needs to touch something to make it real to him. His hands are his eyes in many ways. And Derek is using that now, shamelessly, as he kisses his way around, moving on to the knuckles when he runs out of fingertips.

 

A final pair of kisses to the wrist, outside first, then inside, and he pauses, for the first time wondering if this is really a good idea. But Stiles is breathing faster, shaking ever so slightly on his exhales, and Derek was never very good at quitting while he’s ahead. So he opens his mouth and makes the next kiss to the wrist wetter, sucking carefully at the skin, letting the tip of his tongue taste it before letting go, and Stiles makes a small gasping noise. The smell of his arousal hits Derek’s senses like a bullet, and he can’t help but echo the sentiment with a small sigh of his own as he moves up the palm again, leaving damp patches in his wake as he tastes the skin. By the time he gets to the tip of the thumb, Stiles is shaking continuously, mouth open wide and breaths shuddering, and, _god_ , Derek had gone into this with the vague idea of teaching Stiles a lesson, but he’s so out of his depth now it’s not even funny. But stopping is completely out of the question.

 

He makes the journey to each fingertip in slow, sucking increments, leaving the pinky with an extra swirl of his tongue that makes Stiles pant. He’s hard in his pants, obscenely so, and Derek can smell him so clearly it’s not difficult to imagine that the finger under his lips is something else entirely. But that’s for another time. And Derek determinedly does not think about what it means that he’s counting on more times like this. It’s easier to just keep going, so with a final chilled blow of air over the saliva-damp palm, he moves up and sucks Stiles’ forefinger slowly into his mouth.

 

Stiles moans, breaths whooshing out behind it as Derek moves down, down, down, past one knuckle, then another, until his lips are snug around the base. He sucks gently, closing the space in his mouth completely before pulling off just as slowly, leaving glistening wetness in his wake. Stiles literally twitches when it’s followed up with a tiny scrape of teeth, and Derek doesn’t hesitate to take another turn. When he’s satisfied with the forefinger he moves on to the next, one by one, giving all five full attention, saving the thumb for last, and saying a tender temporary farewell to it afterwards with a small bite of blunt human teeth.

 

”Fuck,” Stiles breathes out, shuddering hard, and a tiny wet spot is slowly forming on the front of his pants. Derek takes it as a sign that they’re ready to move on, and darts up to suck in his fore- and middle fingers at the same time, taking them all the way in with no finesse or patience. Stiles jerks, full-bodied and shocked, and makes a loud, shivery moan as Derek goes to work, treating Stiles’ fingers to everything a good blowjob should entail, and then some.

 

Stiles’ other hand moves helplessly down to touch himself, but Derek slaps it away with a small growl, because that’s not gonna prove his point. ” _No_ ,” he orders, and Stiles whimpers brokenly.

 

”Derek, please,” he whispers, trying again, and has it shoved it away one more time.

 

”Behave, or I’ll stop.”

 

That gets Stiles’ attention, and he clenches his hand white-knucled around the couch cushion while Derek goes back to his fingers. He’s done being meticulous or refined, and sucks sloppily at all fingers in random patterns, adding teeth and tongue where he feels like it. Stiles lets out a pitiful whine when Derek bites at the meat of his palm, and it’s heady, to the point where Derek is going a little crazy himself. Before he knows it he’s nuzzling into the damp palm, dragging the flushed skin across his stubble, and Stiles hisses and squirms from the sensation. Without really thinking, Derek lets the hand slide lower until it clasps lightly around his throat. Stiles goes deadly still for a second, but then Derek growls low and rumbling, the sound thrumming through his chest and neck, and Stiles bites his own lip so hard Derek worries for a second he’ll draw blood.

 

”Fu-huck,” Stiles whimpers, his fingers clenching briefly around Derek’s throat, feeling the vibrations inside, before going lax again, trusting Derek to decide what comes next. It’s getting harder to think, Derek’s own arousal making his brain fog over, but he has a goal here, and he’s damn well gonna get there.

 

He leans in slowly, giving Stiles time to feel what’s happening, until Derek is so close his lips brush Stiles’ ear. ”Tell me, Stiles. What is this?”

 

”Uhh,” he says, obviously struggling to form a coherent answer. ”I… I don’t… _fuck_ …”

 

”Are we making out? Or are we _having sex_?” He makes sure to purr out the last few words, and Stiles’ only answer is a lengthy groan and a twitch of his hips, pushing his hard cock up against his damp zipper in a shameless display, and Derek is no saint. Not even close. So he surges down to close his lips around Stiles’ beautifully arched neck, sucking hard as he reaches down to cup Stiles firmly through his pants.

 

Stiles jerks like he’s been electrocuted, and Derek puts his free arm around him in an iron grip to keep him from falling down as he lets out a filthy moan and comes, the scent of his release reaching Derek’s nose like a punch to the gut.

 

Stiles is still twitching several long moments later when he finally manages to crack open his eyes with some difficulty, his head resting lax on Derek’s shoulder. He looks glorious, flushed and disheveled, a red mark blooming prettily on his neck already, and Derek covertly preens. Or maybe not so covertly, because Stiles rolls his eyes at him. ”Smug asshole.”

 

Derek’s cock throbs in his own jeans, because obviously he’s got some wires crossed when it comes to Stiles. But that’s not exactly news, and he decides to just wait and let Stiles decide what’s gonna happen next.

 

What’s gonna happen is staring, apparently. Stiles’ eyes search Derek’s face for long enough that it starts making Derek wonder if he finally pushed too far, but eventually Stiles’ gaze meets his in question. ”Are you gonna kiss me at any point, or is this one of those things we’re never speaking of again?” His voice is steady, but his heart pounds, obviously dreading the response. So Derek stops asking himself why he does any of this, and tenderly guides Stiles’s head up for a kiss.

 

End.


End file.
